As I was walking past an old vacant house last night
I heard the tinny symphony
of the wind chimes hanging off the porch.
They sound like bells.
Little fake bells.
Bells always make me uneasy-
they always summon something.
This time they unearthed an image,
an image that was buried so deep in my brain
that I was startled that I remembered it with such clarity.
Stuck so high up a mountain’s side,
in a deserted village of stone.
The night is yet to grow firm
and sleep is dancing just out of reach.
Half awake, half asleep, half dreaming,
I hear the bells summon the shadows-
that slide slowly silently across the snow.
I hear snips of whispered conversations.
I hear the odd staccato bark of the mountain dogs,
and catch a glimpse
of lanterns on the snow.
After a while the bells die down,
ebbing away with the wind.
A bell summons other bells.